


Longing

by FlightFeathers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Ginny Weasley has realizations, Post-War effects, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Unrequited, break ups, not-so-oblivious Ron, relationship dynamics, reserved Harry, understanding Hermione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-29 12:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6373927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlightFeathers/pseuds/FlightFeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Ginny realizes that Harry and Hermione share something special – something she can never have with Harry. H/Hr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First Harry Potter fanfiction. Originally posted on ff.net. Enjoy. :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it all seems to begin.

Ginny looked at Harry, as they walked in the streets of Diagon Alley. She observed the lines creasing his forehead, and how he had tightened his lips, thinning them.

"Harry, what are you thinking about?" she asked him, as they both walked towards a coffee shop nearby.

He looked hesitant at first, making Ginny hope that he was about to answer – but then, his expression changed. "Nothing, Gin."

She closed her eyes to keep bottled in her annoyance. She decided that she would never understand Harry Potter and his frustrating habit of keeping secrets. She hastened her steps towards the shop. She opened the door, and went towards the counter, speedily ordering two cups of coffee. She politely said a "thank you", at receiving the ordered things, and grabbed the cups, shoving one in Harry's hand.

At this, Harry looked up at his girlfriend, and asked, in a way as if he had dealt with this habit of hers a thousand times before, "What is it now?"

She breathed out, her vexation truly evident on her face. She walked out the small, comfortable area, and towards a side, stopping there, so that both would remain out of earshot and sight. Finally, she said, "There _must_ be something, Harry."

He looked innocently confused. "What do you mean, something?"

"Oh, Merlin," she said. "I now understand what Hermione means when she says that you can really be thick sometimes."

At the mention of Hermione, Harry's expression changed to that of realization; Ginny thought, observing his facial expression, that Hermione had been the answer to her question, after all. But she quickly dismissed the idea. _Why would he be thinking of her at_ _such an_ _early hour?_ _S_ he once again found herself unanswered.

"Ginny?"

She must have spaced out. Again, she looked at him, and she explained further, answering what he had asked of her almost a minute ago: "Something that you're thinking about."

"Oh … _that_ ," he said, sounding surprised, though, in reality, he had understood what she had meant when she referenced Hermione. However, Ginny was blissfully unaware. "I was, er … There's nothing important about what I was thinking."

His reluctance reminded Ginny of the times when Mum and Dad would politely ask her to leave when the adults would be discussing a matter of importance, which, as they would indicate by making her leave, she was too young to understand. She could very well understand things, thank you very much. And, right then, at Harry's face, she wanted to scream the same words; she _could_ understand, no matter how others thought otherwise.

"Harry, we are in a relationship, aren't we?" she asked – though she was actually stating a fact – as she tried to keep her anger out of her voice.

"Of course," he answered readily.

"So, those who are in a relationship, should share things with each other. It helps them know each other better."

"I," he began, "I know that, Ginny, but there are things that are best left … unshared."

She could feel herself getting angrier. "I understand that you need your personal space, but there's a limit to everything."

And as her anger built, she saw Harry's body stiffen, in attempts to control his own frustration, she reckoned. "What limit, may I ask, are you talking about?"

Feeling misunderstood, she raised her voice, and said, "I am saying, yes, have your space, but that certainly does _not_ mean that you shut me out every time I try to talk to you!"

"I am _not_ shutting you out!" Harry cried, looking unconvinced at his own statement.

"Oh yeah, then why do you not tell me what you feel, or – or what you think about?" she asked loudly. She felt little heavy in the chest, and her eyes were prickling, and her chest hurt a little – which was quite a foreign feeling; she knew she was about to cry in anger.

"Because it's not easy as you think it is!"

"If it's not," she shouted, "then tell me, so that I know how _hard_ it is!"

"You won't!"

When she heard those words, she rounded on her heels, and started to walk away, but halted; turning around once more, she said, "Oh, and this date is cancelled."

She walked away, ignoring Harry's attempts to call her back. She lost herself in a crowd, to make herself unapproachable to Harry.

She felt her eyes stinging with tears she was trying hard to hold back. She just wanted things to get better; she did not want fights. Was that too much to ask for? Why did not things go to plan? Why did the war ever happen? It had taken Harry out of her sight, but she never prepared herself to lose the Harry she had known in her fifth year. How could the _boy-who-lived_ change? Maybe, it had something to do with his title as the boy-who-conquered. Hermione _had_ told her Harry had changed some after the war. Maybe, this was his change, to stay reserved. She chuckled darkly, and closed her eyes, apparating to her room in the Burrow. She walked towards the dark corner of her unlit room, whose windows were hiding behind the curtains.

She felt her throat was under pressure, and she knew that she was going to reduce to sobs at any moment. She closed her eyes, trying to control herself, but failing. She was supposed to be a strong girl, who had been teased hundred of times by her brothers. Any other girl would cry after being the subject to their teasing, and she had learned in the sixteen years of her life to not _be_ the "every other" girl. But why could she not be _different_ , right now? Or whenever she fought with Harry? Why did she let herself be so utterly _weak_ because of him? She was Ginny Weasley, wasn't she? She was fire, and tears never suited her. Did not Harry tell her that he noticed her more because she was not weepy? She _shouldn't_ …

… She started to wonder – like many times in history – suddenly, with a frown, why she was sitting in a corner. After such fights – after her chest would start to hurt (and it was still a mystery as to why it did) – she would sit in a corner.

 _Corners_ , she decided, were quite appealing when she was torn.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ginny visits Hermione.

She looked up when she heard a knock at the door. Panicking, she got up, and looked around, desperately searching for her wand. She didn't want anyone to look at her disheveled state.

"Ginny," she heard, "open up."

_Ron._

She shook her head, and opened the door. She did not care if Ron saw her like this. Chances were, he wouldn't even ask her about it.

He would not even _notice._

She looked at him, her eyebrow raised questioningly, demanding his presence silently.

But his mouth was slightly open – and it looked as if he had not heard her. It was getting annoying.

He tried to say something, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, but he still managed. "What's wrong with your face?"

She had been wrong then.

She wanted to laugh at Ron ( _of course I was crying my eyes out_ , she thought), but could not. "Nothing. What do you want?" she got straight to the point.

He frowned, understanding that she wanted him to leave. But he would not. "Hey, I am supposed to be your older brother. At least share what happened to you with me."

 _Older brother._ He finally realized it. But she did not need anyone, older brother or not. How many changes of the war did she have to deal with now? Was not Harry enough? Annoyed, she snapped, "I can very well handle myself, Ron, just like a hundred times I have before."

He rolled his eyes. "Excuse me for being bloody concerned for you. Don't come to me crying one day, because you can _very well handle_ yourself," he imitated her tone of voice. As he was turning around to leave, she gave in:

"I got into a fight with Harry."

She saw him stiffen, and turn around so fast that he stumbled. " _Bloody hell_?"

Ginny knew he meant to say, ' _What_?' "You heard right," she said.

"But" – she could hear his surprise – "weren't you two s'ppose to be, I don't know, one of those perfect couples?"

Now, it was Ginny's turn to roll her eyes. "It was just the kids at school assuming. The idea of two popular kids finally dating must have been appealing."

"So, er, why did you fight?" he finally asked, moving past her to sit on her bed.

"He is always so bloody _reserved_ ," she complained, standing in front him, her hands on her hips.

Ron looked thoughtful for a moment. "Give him some space, Gin. The war has changed him."

She muttered, "As if I didn't know."

"He," Ron continued, ignoring Ginny's attitude, "is … I don't know. He is scarred, I guess?"

"Scarred," she scoffed – partly at the choice of words (because they did not suit Ron: he did not use such words), and partly at such prospect. "He wasn't the only one fighting!"

He looked angry, his ears turning red. She should have seen it coming. "Hey, he had the weight of the world on his shoulders!" he defended Harry. "And I am  _not_ exaggerating this time; you know what Harry went through!"

She raised her eyebrows, her eyes flashing in her famous anger. "I do, Ron!" (But she felt she was lying.) "But he should realize that everything is fine now!"

He laughed at her. He _laughed_ at her! "What's so funny, Ronald Bilius Weasley?"

"The funny thing," he said, standing up, confident (though he was scared – Ginny felt that he was expecting the Bat-Bogey hex), "is that you do not want to understand what he went through! I admit that I don't know what he went through myself, but at least be reasonable. I think you will have to take a thoughtless step like me to realize –" He stopped, comprehending the words he just said.

She squinted at him, catching his words, which he did not want her to have heard. "What did you do?"

He suddenly felt naked. "Er … What are you talking about?" He shuffled his feet nervously. She could see something in his eyes. Regret, was it?

"You very well know what I'm talking about."

He dropped the act, realizing it was useless. "I will tell you some other time." He stood up, and tried to get out of the room, but she blocked her way.

"When will 'some other time' come?"

"I dunno."

She stepped out of his way, feeling her pleas would be futile, and turned around.

"Ginny?"

She looked down at her hands. "Hmm?"

"Talk to 'Mione. She will know how to, er, make things better between you two. She always knew him best." When he said the last sentence, she heard an emotion in his voice she could not place. Pain? Anger? Regret? Hopelessness? She didn't know.

What she _did_ know, however, was that Hermione would be the best one to ask for help. After all, did she not advise her to act more like herself in front of Harry, to make him notice her? And her advice had worked.

* * *

She rang the doorbell to the Grangers' house, and waited, as the rain poured down from above. She had a spell on her, keeping her dry. Flinching at the harsh sound of thunder, she tried the doorbell once more. Nobody answered her. Making up her mind that this would be the last time she would ring the bell, she tried again. After waiting for five minutes, she turned around, preparing to disapparate.

But she forgot what she was about to do when she saw a figure swiftly walking towards her direction, with an umbrella shielding them from the rain. She frowned. And the person started to run. It was a girl, no doubt about that. Her face softened when she smiled, because she could now see that it was Hermione, with her brown hair collected in a ponytail.

"Hermione!" she called out, opening her arms, when Hermione was five steps away from her.

Hermione looked startled at seeing Ginny Weasley standing in front of her. She stared at her for a second, her surprise – which showed that her previous dread had died – unceasing. Shaking her head, she let her face break into a smile, taking away hints of worry, and she enthusiastically embraced her, her umbrella dropping. "Ginny! I should have known it was you! I was being utterly stupid," she said, smacking her forehead lightly after she released Ginny. "You have long hair, I completely forgot!" Her eyes widened at such foolish words. "I mean," she hastened to correct herself, "I was thinking that it was R–" Her eyes went wide, and she closed them, shaking her head quickly, to stop herself from grasping a subject she wanted to keep away from, and from further embarrassing herself (because rambling was utterly girlish –  _honestly!_ she thought).

"Er," she began once more, "come on in." She bent down to grab her umbrella.

Ginny noticed Hermione's uncharacteristic behavior, which was peculiar, but she let her curiosity go. "I am sorry. I should've told you I was coming to meet you, but –"

"It's all right, really. I was going to spend the whole day alone anyway, until you came along. Thank God you did!" she added with her hands raised, after she put her umbrella at a side.

Ginny looked down, and up at Hermione, trying to tell her why she was _truly_ there. "Hermione, I … I, er, I came here for …" She desperately searched for proper words as they walked inside the building. She took off her shoes at the entrance, and kept quiet. Hermione, as far as she could see, had either not been listening to her, or could sense the conflict inside of her, because she did not prod her to proceed.

Hermione looked down at her wet clothes, mumbling, "I'll be back," and ran up the stairs, nodding her head when she heard a " _careful!_ " from Ginny, who decided to go to the neat garden at the back, and sit in peace. A frown made its way on her face when she heard the doorbell. _Hadn't Hermione said she was going to spend the day alone?_ Turning around, she walked in the living room, looking through the window to see who was outside. She could feel her heart beat faster and her breathing quicken. Oh, she was surprised and nervous, all right.

She licked her lips, and tried to will away the flush on her face, closing her eyes tightly. What was _he_ doing here?

Hesitantly, she made her way towards the door. Yes, she wanted to deny that her legs were shaking a little. Where had all her confidence gone? Had it disapparated?

Wow. She was forgetting how to even crack a joke.

But before she could face hell herself, Hermione saved the day. She must have been deeply engaged in her thoughts, because she had not heard Hermione coming downstairs, or open the door.

She walked forward, and her body hid a little behind Hermione's when she stopped behind her.

" _Harry_!" Hermione exclaimed, jumping a little to reach his height and latch her arms around his neck. Merlin, Ginny had never seen Hermione _this_ excited at seeing anyone before. _Not even Ron_ , she thought vaguely.

"Hermione," Harry said, a smile tilted slightly on his face, his green eyes twinkling.

Harry was happy, Ginny could see.

His arms slowly made their way up to her back, and he pulled her a little closer to him, squeezing her in return. Hermione's face was buried in his neck, and Harry had his eyes closed. He bowed his head, allowing his lips to touch Hermione's shoulder.

She felt herself flush, but not because of her pressured nerves, but because of an all too familiar feeling. She had felt it when had read the report by Rita Skeeter about Harry and Hermione's "love affair" in her third year, when she had heard that Cho Chang and Harry Potter had begun to date, when she had overheard that Cho and Harry had a row because of _Hermione_ , when she was told by Harry that _Hermione_ was going to go with him to an important mission _she_ must not know about but _Hermione_ did (and when she listened to Cho trying to accompany Harry to the Ravenclaw's common room, after he returned to Hogwarts during the war).

Oh, was there a fire burning inside of her! And it was burning really, _really_ brightly. Harry never hugged _her_ like that (with his face on her shoulder, with a grip so _strong_ , with eyes closed in – what was that? – _bliss_ , she named the emotion on his face) – even when she was his _girlfriend_! And Hermione was just … just his _best_ friend – nothing more! This almost made her forcefully pull back Hermione from Harry, but she held herself together before she could act on her thoughts. She narrowed her brown eyes, and chose to announce her unacknowledged presence with a mistily Umbridge-like, " _Ehem_!"

If she had not known better, she would have thought that she had caught two innocent lovers sharing a very intimate moment. _As if!_ But the way both pulled back with their gazes down told her otherwise – though it was a fact that it was untrue.

Harry looked up at Ginny, and smiled tightly. "Hey."

"Hi," she replied, feeling the tension from the previous day building.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

That was so blunt! "What are _you_ doing here?" She was curious really; had not Hermione said that she would spend the day alone?

Hermione looked at both with a creased forehead; what had happened? Ginny knew that was what she was thinking, when she shot a glance at her.

"Hermione, I thought nobody was coming over," Harry said, turning towards her, unknowingly voicing Ginny's previous thoughts.

She blushed a deep red in embarrassment, forgetting her confusion. "I know. I am sorry, really. I was just … I keep forgetting things lately …" At this, she looked down (looking as if she was tired), but Harry (Ginny noticed disappointedly) put a hand on her shoulder, and the other under her chin, pulling it up, to make her look at him.

"It's fine," he assured her. It was as if he knew what was wrong with her. Both looked at each other in the eyes deeply. It was as if they were talking. Silently.

A dull ache developed in her chest. (It was just near her heart, she noticed.) Why could not Harry understand her like that? …

Instantly, Ginny recalled why she was there in the first place. Finding that her opportunity had died, and seeing that _both were comfortable in each others' company_ – there was another pang in her chest at this observation – she made up an excuse that she had to go somewhere important, while looking at her wristwatch, pretending to look out of time (and trying to shield her little pain). After giving Hermione a quick hug, she purposefully walked towards Harry, pecking his cheek, naturally making him surprised. (What was the harm? Hermione did not even know about their fight.)

She looked at both as they walked her out one last time. She waved a goodbye, a forced smile on her face. She searched for a place which was secluded, so she could disapparate unnoticed.

Her feet splashed against the water, stagnant on the pavement – _puddles_. The bottom of her jeans were getting wet.

She felt like running – to _run and run and run_ , but she did not, because that would tire her out. She did not want be fatigued. But something about the water, and her feet splashing against it – the _sound_ it produced – made her want to run, with the water going _splash_ , _splash_ , _splash_ as she went … And she did run. Looking down, she saw her face getting blurred, the quick ripples of the water deforming her reflection – but _that_ did not bother _her_. The sound of it – the _sound_ …

 _Harry and Ginny_ , she started thinking, shutting her eyes close. _Harry and Ginny; it must sound good together … And it_ must _, because_ I _like it._

"Merlin!" she exclaimed, her eyes shooting open. She had forgotten to ask Harry what had been wrong with him yesterday. One more try would not have hurt.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ginny might sound a little ... I don't know, bratty? But she will develop. Character-wise. I don't like bashing (especially for no reason), let me be entirely clear about that. Having said that, thanks for the kudos and comments. :)


	3. Chapter 3

She looked at her brothers – George and Ron. And then her eyes landed on Mum.

They all looked all right – happy even. If she could replay the happenings of the previous, and compare it to the present, she could safely say that their smiles were brighter than they were in the past.

Hers would have not been the odd one out, had the past days gone by according to her wishes. But that was the thing about this world: _nothing_ went according to your wishes, unless your wishes were invented while keeping in view the prophesied consequences of _now_. But that was unlike herself.

"Ginny."

She looked up at Molly. "Yes, Mum."

"You are playing with your breakfast, Dear."

She looked down, and found that her fingers were guiding the fork in a dance, kicking at the scrambled eggs slightly. She nodded weakly, and tried to pass her a smile – the one which Dean said looked bright on her. (But she had been disappointed – and felt she had been caught red-handed – when he had added that whenever she was smiling that way at _him_ , it looked _too_ bright.)

"I'm really not hungry," she said, trying to make her smile look _normal_ bright.

Ron and Fr– … and _George_ looked up from their plates.

"Really?" George asked, smiling the mischievous smile of his. (It looked exactly like Fred's smile; it hurt.)

She got up from her seat hastily, knowing she might not be able to guard her emotions in some time. And she did not have the energy to bear the jokes that were about to come her way. "Um, I think I am going outside. You know …" She pointed backwards with her thumb, as she shrugged one shoulder.

Molly nodded as if she understood, and Ginny knew she had to prepare herself from an interrogation by her mother later. As she tried to hasten out from the kitchen, she heard, "Tell Harry that we are having a lunch together today, Dear; it has been so long, and we have not actually had a time together." She nodded. "And tell Hermione about it," Molly added. Ginny stopped when she heard that.

" _Me_?" she asked. "Shouldn't her Wun-Wun do that?" She smirked, knowing how much Ron and Hermione hated this nickname. Though "Wun-Wun" had nothing to do with Hermione, she still enjoyed teasing them – Ron's red ears were a score.

A cough, and a forced, "Uf coaf!" stumbled out of Ron's mouth, which was filled with food.

He had forced himself to speak not only because he had food in his mouth, Ginny knew.

She smiled as she registered, faintly, Ron's unfortunate predicament, when Molly hit him on his back, and shrieked, disgusted, "How many times have I told you to swallow your food before you speak, Ronald!"

* * *

_Harry._

No dears. Because nothing had been dear between them for a long, _long_ time.

_Mum wanted you over for lunch. And you must know by now that it means night's dinner too, and a stay here as well. So be prepared._

"Oh, and I wanted to ask if you could kindly talk to me, because it has been killing me. You know, I _do_ care, so I wanted to know if you could open the sealed lips of yours!" she muttered harshly, her hand itching to scribble her heart out on the piece of parchment.

Instead, she wrote:

_Yours._

She hesitated, wanting to erase that word. _Love_ would be better. They used that for friends. Besides, she had heard Harry and Ron, when he was not dating her, read a letter sent by Hermione, and in the end was written _Love, Hermione_. So Harry would not think much of _Love_.

"Oh, you shouldn't put so much strain on yourself over such a small thing!" she could almost imagine Dean say.

Erasing _Yours_ , she shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. Why was she thinking so much of Dean anyway?

She finally completed her letter by writing:

_Love,_

_Ginny._

That would do.

* * *

"Hello, Hermione!" Ginny greeted, as she looked at her friend, standing at the door.

"Hey, Gin," she replied, hugging her quickly. "How's life?"

Ginny smiled, saying, "Mum's made me cook!" She shook her head. Never in her life had she imagined _that_ happening.

Hermione grinned, bumping her shoulder with hers, and said, with a teasing note to her voice, "Harry would love to try what you made!"

Ginny frowned at the mention of Harry. "I wish! Anyway, you are on time, but _Harry's_ not."

Before Hermione could answer her, Molly came out, and enthusiastically went towards Hermione, giving her one of her motherly hugs. "Hermione, my Dear!"

Pulling back, Molly frowned, her hands on her hips. "Where is Ron, Ginny? He should be here with Hermione!"

Hermione appeared torn. "It's nothing, Mol–"

But Molly was already bounding up the stairs, muttering something, and it sounded like threats. _Poor Ron_ , Ginny thought. Hermione shook her head, and, when Ginny tilted her head towards the Burrow, entered the oddly shaped, tall house – but it was homey, despite its look.

"Harry!"

Ginny turned around, feeling history was repeating itself.

When her eyes landed on the two, she saw both of them sharing an intimate, bone-crushing hug. She hastily looked away, pretending to not have noticed the two (pretending to not have noticed what she had never wanted to notice, never wanted to _know_ ). She tried to walk away, acting to look unshaken.

She walked inside the kitchen, and raised some plates with a spell, as she decided to set them on the dining table. (It was a good excuse to rid herself from the mocking voices in her head.)

"Ginny."

She swore that if she had not been holding the plates a few millimeters above the table, the plates would have been broken, because she dropped her wand in shock.

She picked up the wand. "Yes," she replied. She wanted to act cold.

"Er …" _Hesitation?_ "You did not ramble on and on about how much you missed me, or about _things_ in the letter." _Words said quite quickly. Nervous?_

She wanted to grab the nearest plate, and hit it on his head. (Oh, but she had a wand, and she could very well hex him into oblivion. That would be _even_ better.)

Turning around, she faced Harry, trying to ignore how good he looked with his disheveled hair, and his wrinkled robes, and the beard growing on his face.

And his beautiful green eyes.

_Oh, I did ramble. To myself._ "I can ramble whenever I want to," she replied instead, and decided to walk past him, but he, before _she_ could pull away, pulled her into a hug.

"I am sorry," he said, trying to hold her wriggling form still.

She became still.

The – _t-that_ voice he used … so full of guilt, and so _soft_. He did know how to get things his way, did not he? She felt her face burn with anger at herself for trying to give in so easily, at Harry for being so sorry, at her stupid excuse of a relationship, at Voldemort to have ever come out of his mother's womb alive, at Harry's _scar_ , at …

She stopped her train of thought. What was she _thinking_? If there had been no Voldy, then there would not have been a Harry Potter, _the boy-who-lived_ , and she would not have made such a fruitful effort for him to notice her, for him to give her a chance, for him to kiss her, for him to _ever_ say, "I like you."

He did not love her, like she believed she loved him. He … He would fall for her. One day, someday.

Yet, a part of her was still angered, and she wanted to slap him, or simply break their relationship. But when she finally got him, why lose him? Since the day she had met him, she had wanted him to become _hers_. And there he was trying to apologize, hugging her – which was so _rare_. (And he had even used that tone of voice she secretly adored.)

"It's fine," she said – before she could think of what she would say – her voice muffled against his chest.

He squeezed her in return, and dropped a kiss on her hair.

She put her arms around him, a little happy.

_But the way Harry's hugging me is not the way he embraces Hermione_ , she thought. (Or the way she and him hugged, was not close to the hugs Hermione and Harry shared.) He did not – _did not_ put his head on her shoulder, held her as if she would run away, squeeze her as if … a-as if sharing an _understanding_.

She bit her lip as she breathed in his scent. _Yes, that is the way they hug each other._

She wanted to know, to _feel_ what Hermione felt in those moments, when he held her close, _so close_ , as if she would leave him, and he would _break, break, break_ , like _glass_ , when you dropped it – _i_ _ntentionally_ … (But she would never know, she was certain.)

She knew she should not compare herself to Hermione – she had never in her life done that before (she had never compared herself with _anyone_ ) because she was always so confident, so _sure_ of herself. But something about the friendship of Harry and Hermione made herself question what she herself had with Harry.

She felt something spreading in her chest, to her arms, to her navel, and it made her _weak_ , and gasp. And it made her want to cry, and bite her lips, and become so _fragile_ , so small, and made her want to feel _special_.

And safe …

(She wanted to hit herself, because she was starting to hate herself, because she had never in her life felt such a weak emotion before.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was more of a filler chapter. But the next chapter will conclude some things. :) I don't mind criticism at all, and do forgive me for the OOC-ness of characters.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ginny witnesses an occurrence that shocks her.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley!"

At Molly's screech, Harry and Ginny jumped. Ginny pulled away, and hesitantly walked towards the staircase. She wished she could close her eyes, because she could not risk to laugh at a humiliated Ron – not today, at the very least.

(But she knew that there would be no blame on her – to not have closed her eyes – because the sight was shocking.)

Molly had Ron by his now red ear. He was leaning down to reach Molly's height, as she dragged him towards Hermione, and practically threw him forward at his girlfriend.

_Thank God he hasn't lost his ear._

Ron took his precious time rubbing his red ears, but failed to prevent them from turning even more red, when he registered the expression Hermione had on her face; her lips were twitching, and her eyes sparkled in amusement, but she had a frown wrinkling her forehead, and embarrassment for Ron in her eyes.

But Ginny outright laughed.

Ron shot her a look, and she tried to shut her mouth, watching Molly walk away with a huff.

Ginny felt that the atmosphere had tensed somehow, and she didn't understand why. She looked at Harry, intending to ask him about it, but saw his jaw clenched as he looked at his two best friends. He was … _frustrated_ , Ginny figured, with something.

Ron looked at Hermione, scratching his head. "Erm … Hey."

"Hi," Hermione replied, giving a tight smile.

Silence. The type Ginny knew everyone wanted to break, but could not, in fear whether the words that would be said would lessen the tension or not. Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but decided against saying anything. Ron looked at her, conflicted.

_They should be happy to meet each other,_ Ginny thought.

"You both won't die if you'll speak to each other."

Ginny looked at Harry in shock. She had not heard him use such harsh a tone with his friends in a long time. She kept staring at him, as he kept clenching and unclenching his jaw. _What's wrong with him? What do they know that I don't?_

As soon as the thought entered her head, she began to feel like an intruder in their personal matter. Yes, she knew now that things were far from pretty between Ron and Hermione – anyone would reach to this conclusion after observing their little exchange. But what _was_ it? Only the three knew.

It was best not to ask Harry anything, though she was dying to do so; it was best she just walk out, unnoticed, and pretend nothing happened.

And so she did.

* * *

"Harry Dear, why aren't you eating properly? You do not take care of yourself at all! And I was thinking that after leaving your cruel 'guardians', you would have started having a better diet!" Molly said. She put two pieces of delicious steak on his plate with mashed potatoes.

Uneasily, Harry looked up from his plate, saying, "It's fine re–"

"No it's not! I must take care of you when you don't!" Molly argued.

"Oh, woman, give the lad a break! Not all of us have an endless pit for a stomach like Ronald over there," George spoke up, partly in defense of Harry, and partly to tease Ron, who looked sheepish as he tried to swallow the food in his stuffed mouth, failing miserably as it resulted in a coughing fit.

Ginny rolled her eyes, used to the comments thrown at Ron by George, and continued chatting with Hermione.

Molly glared at George before she tended to Ron. "You must know that I am your mother, George." And he just nodded in response.

"Ah, Harry, I wanted to ask about the molib – mobi–" Arthur tried to say, as he twisted a little to face him. "The thing muggles talk into."

Harry looked confused for a second. "Ah, I think you mean, erm, a _mobile_ phone," he corrected.

Arthur frowned. "Muggles think up really unusual names, I tell you!" he said. "Really funny people, they are! Anyhow, what does it do?" His face lit up, his eyes betraying his eagerness.

Harry explained what he knew, and Arthur muttered, "Wow, quite impressive."

Molly remarked, "Oh, for goodness' sake, will you _ever_ stop getting impressed by muggles?"

"How can I not? They survive without magic. It's pure genius!" He smiled a smile which was younger than his years.

"Good heavens," Ginny heard Molly mutter.

She shook her head, and looked around at the table, her eyes landing on Harry, and then on Ron. Hermione seemed to have lost her smile.

So much for escaping the tension between the three.

While everyone was laughing, replaying the recent events to others, trying to forget the absence of many, trying to only be happy, the Golden Trio looked solemn. Ginny could not help but let it get to her. Oh, they were laughing all right; yet, when one of the three would lock eyes with another, they would immediately have their smiles wiped off.

Like Ron had just looked Harry in the eye, then he looked down at his plate, which he gently pushed away a centimeter. He must have lost his appetite. And that was just _impossible_ : Ron would stuff his mouth with food whenever he got the chance. It must be something big, Ginny guessed.

And as soon as the thought crossed her mind, Ron pulled his plate, and started eating again. Ginny was forced to wonder if her thoughts were written over her head in thin air. She chuckled at such prospect.

It was not that big an issue after all.

She looked at the three again, and saw them exchanging glances.

* * *

She opened her eyes slowly; her lips and mouth felt dry.

Throwing back the comforter, she felt her wand on the side table. Grabbing it, she muttered, " _Lumos_."

"What?" She looked at the empty bed beside hers. "Where's Hermione?" she asked the walls. After a few seconds, she shrugged.

Any other time, she would have simply used a spell to get some water for drinking. That night, she decided to go to the kitchen. Closing the door lightly shut behind her, she tip-toed towards the staircase. (She didn't want to go down. The staircase was so _long_.)

Finally, with much reluctance, she reached the bottom, and then the kitchen. She poured herself water in a glass, and drunk it in one breath.

"You know this way things won't work out, Ron!" she heard Hermione as she was walking out of the kitchen. She stopped, and approached the door leading to the garden, opening it slightly. They had a ball of light hovering over them.

"I know that! But what do you expect me to do? I have tried every other way to understand you, and keep up with your ideas. But I _can't_."

Quiet. And then: "There is some other reason to it, isn't it?"

Ginny gently stepped forward, so that she could afford to see Hermione and Ron. Ron's back was facing her, and she could see Hermione's troubled face, which was concealed partly by a shadow.

"Hermione," hesitation, "I dunno. It's just that I don't want you to be with a bloke who's …"

Ginny held her breath. She knew she shan't be eavesdropping, but she couldn't help it. "Who's what, Ron?" Hermione asked the question Ginny had roaming in her head.

"… I just can't help it, y'know, feeling as if I don't deserve you."

_What?_ Did she hear right? Maybe Hermione was shocked, as well, for she took a sharp in take of breath. "W-What do you mean, Ronald?"

_Where did he get this courage?_

_He is a_ Gryffindor, her reasonable side said disbelievingly. And Ginny found herself rolling her eyes.

"I have always been possessive about you, and you know that. I just never thought that you and I aren't compatible. I mean – I mean that you … _You_ deserve a person who understands you, appreciates you. I do that, but – but not _completely._ "

"What are you _saying_ , Ron?" Hermione's voice cracked, wavered.

With his hands held out on his sides as he raised them and lowered them rapidly, he said, "I have been an effing bastard to you. And Harry …" He paused.

Ginny felt something burn inside her, and she saw Hermione's face scrunch up in frustration and skepticism. "Don't tell me that you are still jeal–"

"I'm not!" he hastily cut her off. "What I'm saying is, we will only hurt ourselves if we stay this way!"

"But – but what you said about Harry … What did it _mean_?"

Ginny saw Ron's shoulders shake as he laughed lightly. It was humorless, but not pained (as if he had accepted something). "Wow, you and Harry are really clueless, aren't you?"

Ginny was speechless. It couldn't _be_. She was broken out of her thoughts at Hermione's desperate voice, "We can still work things out! We can –"

"No, we can't! And I thought _you_ were s'pposed to be the smart one here! Do you remember I left you two in the war?! I left _you_ , Hermione, and, worst of all, I was a bastard to my best mate. I don't deserve you. I let my insecurities get the best of me … I –"

Here, Ginny felt she had no right to listen into their conversation; here, she was shocked – at Ron's words, at what he did; here, she felt she had no power to listen to her brother's mistakes (maybe it had something to do with being siblings, which brought with it utter blindness towards her brother's flaws, and utter reluctance to hear them out with patience); here, she felt that she would hear something she never wanted to hear; here, she felt she would lose her patience at hearing the heart-breaking break-up, which was inevitable then; and _here_ , she felt she should run away, because, after thinking of herself and her relationship (Ron's words had forced her to ponder), she realized that, somehow, a little, or at most – _she could not decide_ – she had no proper understanding with Harry herself.

Turning on the heels of her feet, she sprinted away, leaving the glass in her hand on the dining table. She shook her head, wanting to embrace denial.

She went way, but shooed away the thought that she was not right for Harry. But she knew that she could not cling on to the belief that everything was going as she had thought and dreamed; someday, she would have to accept everything like Ron did.

(She wondered how he did that; and she _would_ again wonder how he did that.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not entirely happy with this chapter ... I just hope you don't feel the same.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ginny comes to some conclusions.

What was it with Harry and herself?

She remembered the kiss – their first kiss – in the Gryffindor common room. She had been so excited after the victorious Quidditch match, and her day had turned even better, filling with more pleasing moments worth remembering after the kiss. (She could almost see, on that day, telling her and Harry's children about their love story – and their daughter, their first kiss.)

It was no secret that Ginny was a passionate dreamer, and – like any other typical teenage girl – a hopeless romantic, though she concealed that fact. Yes, she liked to believe that she was independent, with her own ideas, personality, and capability to take care of herself; indeed, the war had taught her that much.

Too much, in fact, that she wanted to go back in time, and, somehow, force Harry to let her come with him to the mission she was still not aware of (and something told her she will never know anything about it); she could then know how Harry changed, and what _did_. (Perhaps, she could change in a different way with him, were she to turn back the months, days, hours, minutes, seconds, and time lesser than that, and lesser and lesser than that; perhaps, she could never even have the hint of change she had _now_.)

She knew whatever that was affecting their relationship was their time apart in the war. And though it hurt to admit it, and though her breath intensified to admit it, and though it made her shake piteously to admit it, she knew that they had never been too close before the war, as well. They had not been strangers, but they had not reached that stage in relationship where they could trust each other fully.

It was true that she had not been with Harry in worst of his times, except for in the fifth year, and that was only just a little part. In the second year, she could claim she had been with him, but she had been possessed (she had been in a subconscious state; she had been in a deep, _deep_ sleep).

She flushed in embarrassment at her ideas when Harry was forced into the Triwizard Tournament. _I never thought that he was as unable as Fred and George to enter the tournament._

She straightened herself on the bed. She should sleep, not think about what happened.

Good thing she closed her eyes, because the door knob turned just then, and there came soft  _thud, thud, thud_ on the floor, and it neared her, dying instantly. Sounds of sheet against sheets, a creak of the bed, and Hermione was in bed.

Ginny tried to sleep. She entered darkness, as her heart beat faster, and something came up in her throat. With a gasp, her eyes opened, and she, as stupid as it sounded, lifted up her hands, placing them in the middle of her chest, and checked her heart beat. She was alive.

And that was how the rest of her night went by. Once, when she woke up again restlessly, she heard a sniffle, and a movement. Hermione was awake. And most probably crying. Ginny knew that it was close to sunrise, because the birds were chirping outside.

"Hermione?" she called.

A sniffle ( _and hesitance?_ ), and, "What?"

"You can't sleep," Ginny stated, not asked. Without waiting for her response, she continued, "Me neither. So why don't we get up and talk?" It had been something they had done many a times during the war, before Hermione went away with Harry.

Hermione hummed in response, and in a minute, both found themselves facing each other on their beds, with the light of the steadily rising sun peeking in through the window.

Ginny was not horrified by Hermione's appearance, because she knew she looked more or less like that, but was forced to imagine that an explosion of a potion (Seamus's, she would say) in her face and a bomb set on her head had resulted in the bloodshot eyes, underlined by dark circles, and disheveled, bushier-than-normal hair. The poorly removed tear stains on her face made Ginny stop from commenting what she was thinking.

"What happened?" she asked, getting straight to the point. She knew what happened, but it would not hurt to ask, and it might as well lift the burden of emotions from Hermione's chest.

Hermione grew alarmed. "What do you mean, Ginny?"

"What happened?" she repeated.

"Nothing! I mean –"

"No, I know something happened; I know as your good ol' roommate that you never stay awake at nights when there's 'nothing'."

Hermione nodded, and clasped her hands. Taking a deep breath, she relented: "We decided to take a break."

"You and Ron?"

"Yeah." She found herself spilling everything out: "I … I liked him a lot, Ginny. Maybe the feelings have changed." She turned away her face, her eyes downcast. "That is the only plausible explanation, honestly."

Ginny asked further: "But you two found each other – oh, I don't know – endearing? What changed?"

Hermione shook her head lightly. "Oh, I still can't help but smile when I see Ronald doing his silly antics, shoveling food into his mouth, or being smart or … or _understanding_ when you least expect him to be." Her eyes softened as she recalled. "But there is more to relationships than adoring another." She paused to process the words she would say next. "It takes mutual understanding and compromise to make things work. And everyone knows that I and Ron would slit each others' throats than come to an agreement," she added with a laugh. (It felt as if she was talking to herself.)

Ginny nodded. "I can see that happening," she dryly said.

Hermione laughed again. "That would be a horrible sight, honestly." Then she said, "I am feeling tired now. Thanks for listening to my blabbering."

Ginny smiled. "It's fine." She tried to say something, to get the weight off her chest as well, but could not find the courage to ( _what a Gryffindor you are_ , mocked a voice in her head). Somehow, she felt that she was scared of the answer more than the question irritating her; somehow, she knew what she would hear would make her see things more patiently, more realistically, not the way she was looking at things at present – it scared her, to accept things as they were. For a girl who did not hesitate for a second to speak up the right thing, to be angered at what seemed unfair, she was still a girl who could not imagine losing one thing _she_ had – she was somewhat possessive, and she never thought wrong of that fact.

She looked at Hermione who had her eyes closed. Deciding that she should try to sleep as well, she threw herself on her bed. But Hermione's words kept bugging her.

… _Compromise … Understanding …_ Did she and Harry share that? Her bravery forced her to accept that now, they were far from having an understanding. As far as compromise was concerned, she knew it would be difficult for her to listen to Harry when her own ideas sounded better to her; but she could manage, she believed. Now, to have a better understanding, she needed Harry to open up to her, and not remain in that little cage of his. No, it was _not_ her fault – if only Harry would cooperate. Trying to be unbiased, she pushed herself to understand that Harry must have trust issues, or secrets he felt should remain not disclosed. And she knew that she herself was not with Harry in all those years, especially when the war was experiencing its peak. The whole year, she had been running away from her violent, mad teachers to the Room of Requirement, watching first years getting tortured, witnessing Dark Magic, while Harry had been on the run, away from Death Eaters, away from people thirsty for muggle-borns, away from the whole magical world, away from you-know-who ( _Voldemort_ , she hastily corrected herself), and (she had heard Hermione blurt out once) away from himself, too – though she did not have the faintest idea of what that meant.

Then Ron had betrayed him. Or that was what she had heard Ron say. Harry must have forgiven him, she knew, but she could very well imagine that this betrayal had resulted in a very reserved, very confused Harry.

_But Hermione was there, so he was not alone, after all,_ she thought (or what they said, a "reasonable voice" spoke up in her head). _No wonder they're so close, as if they understand what the other is feeling, thinking, silently saying when they look at each other._ She _had_ looked at their little exchanges, their understanding. She knew could never, ever match Hermione in that aspect.

Something nagged her, or pinched her; something made her close her eyes and sigh in defeat ( _really? Defeat?_ ); something made tears prick in the corners of her eyes; something made her chest ache in the familiar pain (after feeling it so much, it did not look so foreign anymore); something made her feel lost; something made her feel unsure of herself (and she had never felt that way).

Something told her that she was an intruder, and maybe Ron had realized that fact well. (Oh, he must have been so _brave_ to do that.) She was an intruder, coming between something she should never have come between, and now she knew. She –

The door crashed open, and someone ran towards Hermione's bed. "Harry, Hermione … He isn't fine. I can't …" Ron's voice broke.

Hermione sat up abruptly. " _What_? Not again," she muttered to herself worriedly.

And Ginny sat there – her heart coming up to her throat, feeling as if she was being pushed (yet she held herself back a little), her body taut when worry encased it – confused as ever.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ginny asks herself some questions, and gets some answers.

Ginny stared at the doorway which Hermione and Ron just walked through. She was confused. And she was terrified – for Harry, and for what might have happened. She knew that there was nothing too serious that could have occurred, really, because a much bigger help would have been needed, not Ron and Hermione's assistance.

She shook her head slowly, and got up from the bed. Her legs were shaking pathetically. Sweet Merlin. What was up with her? Why was she so excited and anxious? She really did not know that such a moment could heighten her emotions to such extent. But then almost everything seemed to be odd recently. And not to mention how her anger seemed to ignite at things. She had always been the feisty one.

She shunned all the nervous thoughts that seemed to slow her pace. When she entered Ron's bedroom, she was not surprised to see what she saw.

Harry tossed and turned as Ron and Hermione stared at his sleeping form helplessly. They shook him, splashed droplets of water on his face, but he was too stubborn to respond.

Ginny intervened: "What's happened? Why is he not responding?" She had not realized this, and now she did, that her face had reddened, her chest heaved up and down in short breaths, and she was scared. Possibly more than she was before. And she traced the same emotion on both their faces, which had turned to face her in mild surprise that quickly ebbed away as soon as it came.

Ron gave a shrug of his shoulder and frowned. "We don't know." Then he looked back at Harry and attempted again to awaken him from his fitful slumber.

"This has happened before, has it not? Many times, actually; then how can you not _know_?" Ginny eyed them doubtfully.

"What he means is that we don't understand why he is being this way, now that … that everything has ended," Hermione elaborated. "This could have been any normal nightmare, but he has always woken up from them easily, right, Ron?"

Ron nodded. And Ginny shook her head. So he had been having nightmares after the war, and she had been unaware about them.

Hermione seemed to have read her thoughts. "It's not what you think, Ginny. He hid this from us as well. It was just an accident that we found out."

Ginny just nodded her head, and observed them for a few seconds more as they continued from where they left off. Then she tried to help them herself, and she noticed that her own hands shook as she clasped Harry's sweating, quivering, cold hands to steady them.

"Oh Lord. He is not breathing," Hermione whispered in a panicked voice, her eyes watering. "This only happened after we both came back from Godric's Hollow, Ron," she added in a low whisper. "It was a vision … And the locket …" Ginny knew the whisper was meant only for Ron's ears to register, not hers, but she heard her nevertheless, and she felt once more as if she had missed a great part of his life, of his mission. She _should_ have been there. (Her chest hurt, for her mind wandered in such unwelcome places.)

Ginny felt her own eyes burn at Harry's state (and, perhaps, her eyes also teared up at her self-pity – though it was just a small reason that made her miserable, she was convinced), but she shut them tightly to stop herself from crying. Her eyes opened wide when a gasp reached her ear, and a strangled moan escaped in the air. She was too shocked to move an inch, when she saw Harry's emerald eyes wide open, with beads of sweat streaming down his temple. The next thing she saw was Hermione furiously hugging Harry. (She almost tackled him.) And Ron's lips broke into a relieved smile; he was happy, too, because he had his arms around his two best friends in an instant.

And Ginny … When her mind registered the fact that everything was fine _now_ , the taut facial muscles relaxed, and she found herself joining them all, though she still had questions. About his nightmares, or what Hermione called them, _visions_ , and about the locket, which was meant to be kept secret, it seemed.

Oh, and (she knew she should not look too much into things, but she was) did not Hermione say, "When we both came from Godric's Hollow." That meant Hermione had been with Harry during much important times. She had shared something with Harry which nobody else could – not even Ron, his best mate – at the time when the world had abandoned them …

Or they had abandoned it.

* * *

"What did you do, Ron?" Ginny asked him. After Harry and Hermione had left, she had sat herself down in her room, and had seen Ron taking a stroll in their garden; she had many questions to ask him, so why not do that when he was without company?

"What do you mean, Gin?" he asked her, his eyes flashing with confusion.

Ginny did not want to beat around the bush. "Did you leave Harry?"

Ron stopped in his tracks, and slowly moved his head to the side to gaze at his sister. There was uncertainty in his eyes, and shock stamped itself on his face. "What … What did you say?"

"You heard me," Ginny said slowly.

Ron sighed. "It doesn't do well to hide things now, eh?"

She nodded her head, and gave a slight lift of her chin, then lowering it, indicating for him to proceed.

He took a deep breath, and plopped himself on the ground covered by wet, cold grass. Ginny followed suit. She stared at his suddenly tired self.

Ron had changed. So much. And it was now that she saw it. (Had she become that blind?)

He sighed. And I was hard for him to admit his faults to Ginny. She should have known her brother to be a Hufflepuff to his best mate, but she had found out otherwise. "How d'you know?" he inquired; he wanted to do that before he spilled out his heavy heart.

Ginny bit her lower lip in embarrassment when she informed him that she overheard Hermione and him arguing. She expected his ears to flush red in anger, and him to burst forth in anger.

"So it was you. And I was thinking that I had gone delusional, hearing footsteps." Ron chuckled. She was surprised by the calm reaction. _Who are you and what you done to Ron?_

They let silence take over then.

"Erm, so … Do you want to tell, or …" Ginny trailed off, wary of what his reaction.

Ron's head shot up. "Oh. Yeah. That." He paused for a few moments. He frowned, looked down (in shame, she understood), and opened his mouth slowly (and that was because it was difficult to form words). "I left them ... There. I said it."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "That's not answer enough, Ronald."

He looked up with a sigh, as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. (Was admitting to his mistakes that hard for him?) "Look, Gin, I wasn't the best of mate, all right? And I got angry that I left you guys behind for him, and I was jealous of him and Hermione, I'll admit, 'kay? I was a right git. I never deserved Harry's forgiveness, not Hermione." He chuckled here, forgetting his growing anger. "Did you know she gave up everything to help him defeat Voldemort? … She has always been loyal. She didn't come with me when I left. She always did what was right." His head tilted downwards again (possibly because of his failure to be loyal). And then he scrambled up, intending to hurriedly leave.

Yet Ginny sat there, her mouth a gaping hole; she did not – _could_ not – believe what he said. And it was not because of the story only; it was because of why he did it. And then Hermione … Why was it that more she knew about the depth of her friendship with Harry, the more she perceived her own relation with him as shallow? They had shared their stories with each other in the grounds of Hogwarts, they had got closer – then they drifted; then he left; and when he came back, he had changed, and she witnessed themselves become somewhat of strangers, but not as such.

And, for a concise point in time, she wondered once again: Had she been coming in-between something special all along? And did she have the courage to step away, perhaps?

Was she Gryffindor enough to let the things she held dear to her heart go?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ginny lets go.

Ginny winced as another wizard pushed past her in a hurry, seemingly unaware of the person he had practically thrown to the ground – not that she was really sprawled ungracefully on the cold stone. She brushed her shoulders, the dust invisible; she squared them after, ready to face the music.

She was at The Ministry of Magic, on her way to the Aurors' department, to talk to Harry about, well, _them_. Of course, she understood that this was not the best place for such conversation, but it was so hard to find Harry anywhere, even at the Grimmauld place. Where he spent his nights – after free from training – nobody knew, and they were content with embracing ignorance, including herself. (She had prodded Ron about the mystery countless times though, but he denied any knowledge.)

It seemed that time loved to fly by when it knew it was needed the most. There the door to the office was, just across from her, standing, as if it wanted to welcome her. Yes, she had butterflies in her belly – and not from the thought that she was going to meet Harry, like she got in the past – and she could not for the life of her foresee what was to come next. Oh, why could not the seconds drag on as if they were minutes, and minutes hours?

She neared the door, the sound of her steps – and it was queer, since the noise around had dissolved them – imprinting themselves in her mind. She knew she would never forget what she was to encounter in her life; she just _knew_ it.

Her hand was raised, her fingers just above the handle, gently applying pressure. She did not know what came over her later, but the next thing she knew, she had banged the door open, the door's violent meet with the wall producing a great noise. Two pairs of surprised eyes looked up at her. She looked around, saw two empty desks (one of them which Harry occupied usually) in the room, and at not finding Harry anywhere, she approached one of the owners of the eyes, asking, "Where is Mr Potter, if you please?" The man pointed towards a half open door inside the room, flashing a smile at her. She nodded her appreciation for his help. The room was for visitors. Who could be visiting him now?

When she neared the door, she heard some hushed voices, catching some of the words uttered.

"… I know, and I'm not sorry …"

"– Yet you should know that you two have disappointed me!"

"… Our choice …"

"But _why_?!"

"Because … safer as friends. Our constant … destroyed …"

Silence, then:

"Sorry … I was being …"

"– Fine."

Again the voices quietened.

"How are you …?"

Ginny neared the door. She knew it was Harry and Hermione, arguing about her break up with Ron. She knew Harry did not desire any rift in "the Golden Trio", their infamous representation; yet he also wanted to support them wholly in their decisions. She moved to open it but what she heard next made her stop in her tracks.

"I don't know what to do," Hermione said – her voice now clear to Ginny's ear, thanks to the close distance. "What will they say when I will give them their memories back? Or what if they never remember me, Harry? How …" Her voice cracked. "How will I cope, then, knowing they are there, but so far away? And if they remember me, will they understand why I did this to them? Why I replaced their memories? To help you and to finish this war; and mostly to keep _the_ _m_ from harm?" Then Ginny heard a hitched intake of breath, and she could imagine a fresh trail of tears down Hermione's cheeks. She wanted to go inside, comfort her close friend, but her curiosity to know what they were talking about simply made her stand like a statue. "They're my parents, and I don't know how to face them. I don't even know if I'll ever find them in Australia. They were spotted there, you know."

Ginny did not undergo a shock at this unclothed secret, as she expected. It was just mild astonishment, nothing more. She had anticipated the "loyalty" Ron spoke of had much sacrifices to testify to it, and the proof had just entered her ears. And she could not help but let her heart swell for Hermione, who was so much better a friend, an accomplice, a partner than anyone could ever be to Harry (that was the only reason of Hermione's action that she cared about). And she tried to grasp – to _accept_ – that her support, though valued, was overshadowed by another's. But, yes, a pang reverberated in the deepest chambers of her heart, throwing itself violently against everything, protesting, weeping, and expressing something else that it had stopped to unveil vulnerably since ages. Oh, did she feel helpless about herself (but she sought not to let it brand her its prey for a longer time). Why was she feeling this way? She knew well enough, or otherwise – and she believed the latter. She wanted to be the possessor of such devotion for Harry, _to_ Harry, and she had dreamed this dream when she first modeled him her hero. (Or did she wish this after forming a relationship she instilled her pride and promises in?)

"You can do it," she heard Harry say, and his voice became distant suddenly, for her thoughts became louder. "I believe in you. And I will help you; I owe you so much."

"You don't," Hermione squeaked in anger. "You don't owe me _anything_ , how many times do I have to tell you, you thick-headed boy!"

A faint smile came on Ginny's face.

And she frowned when she felt a hole in her back, as if someone was staring intently at her. She looked behind, and caught the man who helped her. She faked a smile, realizing she must look utterly ridiculous standing there, ready to enter the connected room, yet consumed by hesitation. She took a deep breath, knocked the door, and readied herself for permission.

"Come in," Harry said, breaking the silence that was caused by her interference.

She stepped inside. Harry's eyes widened at seeing her, but he tried to cover his surprise (which must have been pleasant, she expected, since she did not visit him often). "Hey, you two," she greeted, her tone laced with awkwardness. (She felt she was getting the pieces together properly, because now she hoped she had found the reason for Hermione's dull aura. Was she going through so much? The war had stolen them from so many things.)

Hermione did not look back for a few seconds, wiping her face furiously with her hands. When she turned towards her, she grinned from ear to ear, and hugged her briefly. "What brings you here, Gin?"

She just smiled in response, feeling self-conscious (and the emotion turned out to be – for herself – quite undefinable, like she had felt it much once, but had forgotten it for a long, long time).

"Er, I just wanted to talk to Harry, if he doesn't mind, of course!" she added hastily. Of course caring if Harry minded her presence or not was the last thing on her mind, but she had to show that she still cared for his wishes, and understood them (in front of others). She gave a tight smile, feeling uneasy for she had been passing grimaces to others the whole day. (She would not be surprised if she had forgotten how to smile.)

"Then I think I will leave you to it. I should be going myself now, I have some things to do." Hermione was just walking out when Harry called her. "Yes?" she asked, adjusting her handbag on her shoulder.

Harry scratched the nape of his neck. "If anything else is troubling you, you can tell me now."

Hermione looked at him for an unnecessarily long time, and then she shook her head, beaming. "It is all right, honestly, Harry. And, besides, I would not want to bully you with my problems."

He nodded slowly. Then he stood up, and embraced her. And at that moment, Ginny felt once more a third wheel. Harry, who practically ran from showing affection, had initiated the hug, unlike before. _Wow_ , she thought, _something must be really wrong._ And there was this spark of jealousy she could not control, and there was envy accompanying it, as well. She had to suppress these emotions; yet her mind began replaying the moments she had with Harry, and how his reluctance, albeit little, would affect her; though the moment he would give in, she would forget everything.

To keep away from this negative emotional territory, she averted her eyes from her friends. Now, she had one more point in her head: Harry was comfortable with being open with Hermione, more than he was with her, Ginny.

This time, without any denial, she embraced the fact that the first woman whose priorities were crucial to him was the one in his embrace.

And she recognized her own place in his eyes. She was not unimportant. No. She saw how much he cared for her wellbeing, her opinions, ideas, thoughts when she - after Hermione left - talked to him about how they were drifting away from each other day by day, and how she could not handle to wait for him to find his place and then think about their relationship. And how she could not see him fooling himself in thinking that Hermione was _just_ a best friend, just a sister, when she could be so much more. (She added this part without thinking it through, without actually contemplating the idea of sharing it with him before. She plainly blurted out with it. And she prayed that she would not regret it later.) His eyes widened when he heard that, and he started to say something as defense, but she never let him, saving his efforts.

And she also told him (more like told _herself_ ), "I think there is no love between us anymore. And no _understanding_ , tolerance, patience. We are like strangers, if we try to be lovers." (She had repeated the words Hermione had told her, and their weight was wearing her down at this moment.)

Yes, things would be better now, if she stepped away, rather than watch the show wordlessly, play along, hope against hope stupidly, when there were options to save her dignity by doing things that were inevitable herself.

And the message was clear, was it not?

Yet she opted to explain more: "We are better off as friends."

And unshed tears broke like a dam, and Harry tried to reach out, trying to control his shock, and, like a good boy, help her. But she ran away from him the second time in that month, into the nonchalant crowd, out the suffocating Ministry, into the fresh air, then into a tube to apparate near the Burrow, in the wide expanse of land which was alone, and would surely give her company better than others. She desired silent company (not her mother's hopeful words, because hope was not there; not Ron's encouraging words and "You were brave," or "You did the right thing"; not George's jokes to cheer up her mood, because that would be lying to herself about her sorrow). She cried a river under a lone tree, which would have cried with her, if it had eyes.

She felt a pang. And that was – what was it again? The confusing knot of her emotions made her burst into sobs of frustration all over again. But when she thought about it, there would be no frustration of waiting for Harry, and he would finally learn that he could fall in love with Hermione since the coast was clear, and he would thank Ginny later on, and Ron, as well, and Ginny would learn (and she had started to learn, in fact) that she could let go of Harry, and think of him as a person than her dream.

And her sobs died to sniffles.

Yes, maybe she did the right thing.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ginny hopes for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! I hope you enjoy regardless.

It had been weeks; they crawled past at a snail's pace. Ginny had managed to survive through it all, gladly. And she had not seen a sign of Harry Potter in all these seven days. Not a _single_ sign. Where was he; what was he doing? She did not know.

Did he grieve at all? Did he miss her, like she was missing him? Did he not feel _something_ for her? Anything at all?

She guessed not. Or maybe he did. At the thought, her heart did not break any further. Or maybe it was too broken to break more. But that was an exaggeration: an exaggerated lie.

Oh Merlin, she was … _tired_. Why was she still waiting for him, when she herself had seen to that? She herself was a hopeless case. She was tired of being herself anymore. Being possessive, idealistic (when it came to Harry), _everything_ that made her _herself_ was a pain. She leaned her head back, hitting the headboard of her bed.

She had expected to find herself losing appetite for a good long period after the break up, but she had found herself eating more and more as the days went by. She would get fat if she did not do something.

Others had already chosen to do something for her.

Everyone suspected that she was going through something that she preferred unshared. There was a glint in Ron's eyes – a glint that told he _knew_ what was happening to her, or what she did, whatever way he saw it. (Harry must have told him. But she felt, in the pit of her belly, that he did not.) And Molly assumed she had a row with Harry: she had tried to cheer her up, telling her these little fights helped disappear the boredom their relation was facing – or that was all Ginny got from her. "You know, Dearie, I used to fight deliberately with your father just for fun purposes." Mum had told her this in a whisper, as if it were a big secret, which it was, but she sounded as if she was actually boldly breaking the Unbreakable Vow.

And then there was Dad. He constantly talked about "funny Muggly objects" and had once tried to make a sound of a rubber duck – as if that would help her. Not to forget George. He pulled different pranks on her, prophesying that she would laugh along with him, but he only got a black eye each time, because she would be too angered to bother with her wand. She swore that George would make the worst prophecies.

She laughed despite herself. Harder than she ever laughed. They were so considerate, really, and she was pushing them away. And had been drowning in self-pity. And sadness which she did not understand what triggered.

A _tap, tap, tap_ interrupted her thoughts. She instinctively looked at the closed window, recognizing the sound to be made by a bird's beak – an owl's beak, to be more precise.

She threw open the window when the owl flew out of the way, and let it inside. She untied the letter on its leg, unfolded it, and read:

_Dear Ginny,_

_I hope you're fine. Since I have not heard from you for the past few days – a week; I have been wanting to meet up with you for quite sometime, but never got the chance. I hope we could go out today, in the afternoon, if you are not busy. It would be nice to have your company. And we could catch up. I am craving for a girl's company. Honestly, the boys have driven me crazy! They can be a headache sometimes. Anyway, I hope you will come._

_Love,_

_Hermione._

When Ginny read this – was reading through it, actually – she had already made up her mind. She grabbed a quill next to the ink pot on her desk, grabbed a piece of paper, and wrote her answer.

* * *

A breath of fresh air would be good. And she needed to talk to Hermione about something.

"So now what?" Hermione said as she gazed around her aimlessly in the Diagon Alley. Ginny did not need to buy new books for the year she was repeating, since she already had them; and new robes were out of the question, since she was not feeling up to it. So both their eyes rested upon a pet shop.

"You know, you could get a frog or an owl. Or better yet, a cat for yourself. You don't have anyone to keep you company. Crookshanks is a dear, though he is one haughty beast. So, what do you say?"

"I say we should just look around, not take an animal home. Pig is a handful." Ginny said, all the while wanting to broach a subject she never in her past thought of talking about to another – simply because she had considered everything would be the same; things would go her way, she had idealized, and the utter incorrectness of it was staring at her face. She did not know whether Hermione would approve of it – of what she wanted to so urgently tell her. She did not desire any awkwardness erupting in their friendship that it would be so nerve-wracking to meet each other another time.

 _Merlin_ , where did the Gryffindor in her run away to?

She entered the pet shop a little too hastily, as if desperate to move forward to avoid a question that could be thrown at her, even when there were chances nothing would be asked by Hermione.

But she had assumed once again.

"So …" Hermione dragged the word, probably contemplating what to say next as she did so.

Ginny gazed at a cage which had a brown owl sitting inside it. It was beautiful – she especially noted that when it spread its wings. Their eyes met. After staring at each other for a long while, Ginny broke the contact after it hooted. She was feeling as if the owl was demanding her to walk away – to not consider him or her as an option. She sighed, walking deeper into the aisle, then turning to the section to her right, and it had frogs, staring up at her, croaking, pleading with their beady eyes that they wanted out.

"So what?" Ginny asked.

"I wanted to ask if everything was fine between you and Harry?"

" _Why wouldn't it be?"_ she wanted to say, but was quick to realize that Hermione would know the truth, sooner or later.

She took a deep breath. "No, actually; the answer's no." It was hard for her to say the words: she could not choose whether or not it was right to tell her, and her mouth opened and closed like a fish's. "We broke up." She felt the heaviness in her throat ease.

" _What_?" Hermione was shocked. Why would not she be? "I thought … I thought it was just an argument: Harry said so!"

So she knew that things were not looking up, though not entirely. "He lied then," Ginny said flatly, as she rested her hands on the glass that separated her from the frogs.

"Oh. _Oh_!" Hermione grabbed her arm and pulled her into a hug. "I'm so sorry, Ginny; I understand how it feels."

Ginny pulled away, smiling. "Hey, it's all right. Yeah, I had my fair share of buckets of tears, but I'm brilliant now."

Now that she entertained the thought – or the words she unthinkably blurted out – she grasped that she was not hurting so much anymore. No, she wasn't – not like she felt a few days ago. She felt she was getting better now, and she had willed to not let it bring her down, this difference in her life – and it was huge, for being with Harry had been her dream as long as she could recall; but now, she could not even dream, since that would be foolish. But it gave her a curious sense of relief, to not be with him. The possibility of losing him had always subconsciously exhausted her. Now that worry was lifted off her shoulders, because the prospect was no longer an imagination or a pessimistic estimate: it had become a reality.

And there had always been a guilt she had buried inside her heart; it told her that she was a thief, to have stolen Harry and kept him with her when he better belonged someplace else. She understood that it was her insecurity calling out to her, pulling her in, because in no way did she steal Harry: he had come to her himself, overlooking what he had all along.

She understood, to some extent, how Ron felt: insecurity, not only because his best friends outshone him, even when they cared not about it, but also because he liked Hermione, who he feared he could lose to Harry, for he was not blind to see that they had potential. But he became a right Hufflepuff, even when he was a Gryffindor, and he let Hermione go because it was a fact that they could not _be_ , and he accepted it, after both him and Hermione dragged themselves relentlessly.

And now she felt she was in the same position as her brother, excluding the point of ever thinking Harry would be lost to Hermione, until recently. And that realization came at her full force after their end.

But if it was their end, did not mean there could not be a beginning for Harry and Hermione; and a beginning for herself, and the new her she was becoming, and was to emerge to be.

She wanted to say these things to Hermione. But she did not. Maybe she lacked the spirit to do so, or maybe her heart was not letting her.

There was something that told her they would realize soon. And there was something that told her that she did not need to tell Hermione at all. Because there was something telling her she would know soon.

Ginny wanted the unending chapter to reach its conclusion, and for a new start to blossom.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ginny puts some sense in Harry.

Ginny told everyone, at last, what was bothering her. Nobody took the news well, except for Ron (and George), who already knew everything. He thought she took a wise decision; she herself thought so, too, even after her heartbreak and the pang she felt every time she thought about Harry and Hermione.

More than a month had gone by, and the figuring out Ginny thought would have been completed by now was not completed.

Hermione had shared her secret – missing the part about the second reason why she stole the memories of her parents. Ginny never asked further. Because she had hidden so many things in the past from her and still had the knack to do that, it made it hard for Ginny to remain patient enough to not prod.

Ginny was wrong to think that Harry would spill the beans to Hermione – about the things that led him to ignore Hermione, to stay away from the Weasleys as much as he could. She knew he could not help it – he was frightened at the thought of facing the Weasleys. What he did not know was that Ginny had told everyone that _she_ decided to end things, not the other way round. (The whole truth was not shared – that would only put the blame on Harry, who was as much oblivious to all the things Ginny rubbed on his face as Hermione.)

Truly, she was getting frustrated. Why had not Harry talked to Hermione yet? She wanted to know so badly. She did not wish to tell Hermione about anything. She was determined not to. What she would do, was to make Harry say these things.

A meeting with Harry was in order.

* * *

Ginny was in the Auror's office in the Ministry. In the same room where she last talked to Harry in heated tones; the same area where she broke her heart and left a bewildered mess of a Harry; she was in the reminder of her decisions – the decisions she took all too hastily; she was standing in the area where she realized her worth in the eyes of the man she dreamily called her lover; most of all, she was in the room that led her to another door, its direction to relief and exemption from the stabbing she was gifting herself with.

She looked at Harry, who was sitting on a sofa, and she was standing in front of him, with no grudges, no sorrows. She meant business, and he knew that.

"What do you want, Ginevra?" he asked.

Her eyebrows shot up. "Why are you being so formal? We _are_ supposed to stay friends, am I right?"

He looked at her through his round glasses, looking aged, when he was only eighteen. The war's impact was unmistakable. He had changed in so many ways; he became reserved, less expressive, unless encircled by his friends; he seemed so alone, she pitied him. But pity was not what he needed; he needed understanding – not only that, but also understanding from the person who _shared_ the same experience. (She was beginning to understand what she really thought before. She herself could have offered understanding, but to know that someone understood you on the basis of the same experience made everything seem a whole lot better.) And Hermione could give him that, not her. She had lost her parents, she had been with him in the whole journey since his first year; she had realized the talent in him to teach Dark Arts when nobody else could. She could read his eyes, when Ginny herself was nowhere nearing that degree. Yes, her judgement was right. If anyone could, it was Hermione that could help him out.

"Anyhow, I came here to knock some sense into that thick head of yours," she said. "You should tell Hermione what happened, and not ignore her. She is your best friend for goodness' sake; your new feelings do not change that fact! If it is bothering you so, why don't you tell her that? She has the same feelings, I'm sure." (Finally, she was getting to subject she wanted to approach.) Her tone softened. "Harry, it is best of you tell her you like her. Things will become better, believe me."

Throughout the lecture, he just stared at her emptily. (It was making her uneasy.) To break the silence, she sat next to him, and said, "Harry, please, listen to me. Don't let mine or Ron's efforts go to waste."

Harry looked at her abruptly. "What?"

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

He shook his head. "What did Ron …"

Her mouth formed an "o" at her slip, but, instead of covering it all up, she told him that Ron knew that Hermione deserved someone better, and that was Harry (and he knew he himself would never be the man for Hermione, because he broke her heart countless times). She told him that those closest to them believed that they needed each other, but they could never see it. She reminded him that Cho left because of Hermione; that _she_ left him because of her – not out of jealousy, but out of concern for them, and out of the allegiance as a friend. She would be a sinner were she to live in the fantasy world she had built for herself and him, who wanted nothing more than to stay away. She told him things that she told the day she left him in this very room, confused, lost, and, most of all, enlightened (and it was as if the words the air stored in itself, setting them free, for her to inhale, to let out later).

She reminded him of many things; she could not stop. She felt her own heart thud against her ribs, ready to come out of her robes; her cheeks had gone red in all the excitement; her chest would register a slight ache whenever she thought of him and her and their lost future as she would talk about his future with Hermione. But could she have rested her soul if she were to live a lie? No, absolutely not; she told that to Harry, when he asked her why, once again, she left him.

In all the time she talked, she convinced herself and Harry both of the wisdom of her decision.

Indeed, everything would be fine now, she found herself thinking as she saw Harry's expression soften, in agreement, she supposed.

"I …" he began. "I … Thanks. For being there." He shot a genuine smile her way, his eyes flashing in gratitude, with a small hint of disbelief. Then he frowned, as he looked at her intensely. He looked down at his hands resting on his knees, swallowing. "I want to let this off my chest, Ginny; I'm really, really sorry for not … living up to your expectations. And I will understand if your family does not want to see me again." He stopped speaking there, his shoulders slumping more, in defeat and regret.

Ginny would have cut him off at his apology, taking in account how very impatient and awkward she felt because of it, when she felt there was no need. (The day she left him, was the day she forgave him, as well, because he could not help it, and she understood when you couldn't help it, remembering with regret how very good Dean was to her, and just how she couldn't _help_ but think it was Harry that had his lips upon hers; that it was him telling her how absolutely flawless she looked with the freckles splashed across her nose, with her light irises, her red hair. Oh, she was foolish, a deceiver who tricked herself and others.)

She put her hand on his shoulder, her approach slow, filled with hesitation, as if she was afraid that he was like a vulnerable creature who would react defensively at her touch. "You should know that everyone's worried about you. They were thrilled to know we are happy this way." She tried to convey the truth of her words through her eyes, as she stared into his emerald ones. "I don't know why you would assume such things. It's fine, really; things were not meant to be that way. I'm not hurt – not anymore."

He looked at her with look that said millions, and she could only detect one emotion he had: gratitude.

It was unusual, this feeling, for it did not welcome her (or she did not welcome it) with its presence most of the times. It was swimming in her heart, flapping its wings, spilling blood across her body, spreading warmth throughout. It was what she felt when she helped the first years from the curses of the so called teachers that were Death Eaters; it was the feeling when she encouraged all of those that had given up to stand up taller, for it was a fight they had to win, with enjoined hands; it was the feeling when one of her jokes would set aglow the ashen faces of the wizards and witches in Hogwarts she had learned to call her friends, not just strangers who had magical blood running through their veins, not just fellow soldiers in a battle. (There was just a weak ache in her chest, still, though, and she would find out soon what it meant, she believed.)

She stood up, feeling she had accomplished the task of being a loyal, unselfish friend to those that needed guidance. After such a long time, she felt pride, for not rewarding herself, but assisting others.

"You _will_ consider what I just said, right?" she asked him, preparing to leave.

He sighed, standing up, walking towards the door, indicating her to follow him out. He walked ahead of her, not waiting for her to catch up. She jogged up to him, falling in step beside him. They weaved their way through the hurrying crowd of Ministry members, towards the lift the made creaking sounds as it descended to the Atrium. At reaching there, both moved towards the fireplace; then, she put a hand on his shoulder, halting him. He didn't look back.

"You did not answer my question, Harry," she said.

He let out a breath again (she could feel his shoulders slacken a little), and continued on his way.

When they reached the fireplace, he, at last, answered, "It's not as easy as it sounds. I need time." He clenched and unclenched his jaw, nodding slowly. He turned, ready to disapparate. "By the way," he said, his back still facing her, "I have been considering this all, about Hermione, before today." He paused. "Tell Kingsley through Arthur or whomever that they won't be seeing much of me for some days; I'll send a letter, too," he added.

Before Ginny could jump out of her stupefied state, and demand where he was going, he entered the fireplace, and disapparated – just disappeared.

He _disappeared_. Puff. Into thin air.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry and Hermione clear the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm finally back from the dead. Firstly, I want to give my thanks to those who reviewed and gave kudos to Longing in the past months; I hope you all still are there for support. It matters a lot. Secondly, I want to say sorry for updating so late. But understand me when I say life never gives a break. The characters might be OOC. But I didn't know how to manage them. Anyhow, carry on. :)

Harry loved quiet.

It was almost like running away. Since he was too much of a coward to be coward enough to run away from it all, he would come in the welcome relief quiet brought. (It was like playing a game of hide and seek; and he was the one hiding somewhere to seek himself.)

Quiet was good; quiet was peaceful. There was this sense of comfort in noise, he knew – the noise like that of the Weasleys, the Great Hall, the crowded Gryffindor common room, and the Quidditch Pitch. But quiet was a spot where one could be loud themselves. They could let their thoughts go unrestrained, speak aloud, and come out into open air to converse with you.

It was not always a blissful experience, silence; there were tears, sometimes – cries, too. But it served its purpose: clearing his head.

Nobody knew (only Hermione did, and she forced it out of him), and he was happy enough not to tell that he came here. It was where he could be Harry James Potter, not the boy-who-lived or the man-who-conquered – or whatever they were calling him these days. Initially, he would visit Teddy to sort his mind, but that would turn into a babysitting job where he had to pinch his nose while changing his diaper or force something into his stomach or try to stop him from being a pain. He still visited him, but not for this. Either being a shepherd would have let him assemble his musings, or being alone. He chose to be alone.

He had been here for two days. He didn't think the Minister would mind – everybody knew he was a fine Auror already. Catching the Death Eaters and the Snatchers – the latter being an easy prey – was a task filled to the brim with its own tension, but he managed, reminding himself it was nothing like searching for the Horcruxes.

This wasn't his first disappearance act – no. He had done it countless times, staying here until morning. But, this time, he felt the need to stay in the quiet longer. Because, this time, he did not need to calm his fear and pressure of never being normal (about which he had foolishly hoped about, believing, after Voldemort's fall, he would lose his connection with him, and could deal with his dark side better; but he never thought, similarly to when he was a baby boy, he would be tagged as someone magnificent, whose name every witch and wizard would know); this time, and ever since Ginny opened his eyes, there was the fear of feeling deeply for his truest friend – there was a warmth he felt for the first time, and that scared him. (New things always did. Either in a good or bad way; he couldn't yet decide which type this fear was.)

But if Hermione wasn't the way she was, would he have anything to fear? The worst part was he still was unsure if she felt the same.

* * *

As Hermione walked through the narrow street, she felt she was taking a walk down memory lane itself. But, today, there was no snow beneath her feet, her body was not transformed into another, and the gloom of the war that seemed to have surrounded the whole of Britain the past year was absent. And the atmosphere was changed – a welcome change – yet there was something, _somebody_ amiss, the one who had made the journey through the raging battle seem worthwhile: _Harry_.

She could almost feel the ghost of the memory coming alive: beside her stood Harry in an ancient body of a man, but still very much Harry … And she was the old wife of the man, yet Hermione underneath the layers of skin, her hand clasped in Harry's. He was walking next to her, and she could hear the words, as if hanging in the air since they – _she_ – last visited:

_"Let's take off the cloak … Oh, come on, we don't look like us and there's no one around."_

She had apparated on the same spot they had once months ago. So she passed the same cottages, looking bright with the descending sun's rays upon them, towards the center of the Godric's Hollow, where a war memorial stood. A little distance away, there was a small inn – _Henry's_. But that was not where she was headed.

Hermione had wanted to tell Harry, before she told anyone, what she had finally planned to do. And when she was informed he was at leave for few and unspecified days, she knew where she was headed next. Not only to tell him she was going to Australia, but to be a friend (but she wanted to be so much more, she had realized in the last month, after Ron claimed she was someone for Harry).

She slowed down, suddenly, as she passed the memorial, where, for a magical eye, stood a statue of a baby Harry in the arms of his parents. Like many times before, she found herself thinking it was so unfair for the world's burden to fall upon a baby's small shoulders. He was just a boy, who had to cope his Aunt and Uncle and cousin, and, then, Voldemort sauntered into his life. But Hermione believed everything happened for a reason – this kept her marching. And there _was_  a reason (or a consequence), as this made Harry a selfless boy. A kind, beautiful human, who had so much for the world to offer. Maybe, if he had parents, he would have been arrogant. (Maybe he wouldn't have been her friend, and sneered at her – openly – like Ron did at the start of Hogwarts in their lives.)

At the thought of his parents, the broken cottage entered Hermione's mind; she looked in front of her, to the path that led to a place which contained Harry's last moments with his family. She smiled bitterly, remembering how things escalated when they met Nagini disguised as Bathilda, and, after the ordeal (after the murmurings and moans and screams that left Harry's body from his mouth; after he danced between consciousness and unconsciousness; after he stopped breathing for some time), how Harry cocooned himself in a bitter, angered shell, which frightened Hermione.

 _Harry_ , her thought sighed.

Before she knew it, she stood before the kissing gate, welcoming her to the graveyard. Taking a deep breath, she entered, the gate screeching on its hinges in reluctance as it opened. Her feet led her towards James and Lily's graves. Before them, like Hermione predicted, Harry stood, his head bowed, eyes closed, and breathing deep, apparent from the slow rise and fall of his chest and shoulders. Hermione's breath caught, because Harry looked like a still, muggle painting of a well known but unknown man, his body blending into the gloomy background of graves upon graves, green grass, and tall trees. The slight wind played with his untidy hair, and, then, he suddenly looked like he was in a moving picture. His form radiated a man chained to the weight of expectations of others, fame, and loneliness, holding him captive; yet, simultaneously, he looked as if he could be free here – a bird who could be with himself, his thoughts, and the spiritual presence of those he loved for once. (But then, Hermione mused, one could be imprisoned in their own mind, too.)

Harry's deep sigh, with a break in it, seeped into the noiseless atmosphere, making Hermione walk hesitantly forward, a few fallen leaves crunching beneath her as she did. Harry's head shot up, alarmed, and his gaze fell in her direction.

"Hermione," he breathed lowly.

His eyes couldn't leave her; they took in the bushy mess of hair on her head and pink cheeks. He was surprised to see her, undecided about his feelings; should he be happy or feel something other than that? She knew he came here for a breath of fresh air. Why the intrusion? _Because you've been here for a longer time than before, a voice in his head said._

Hermione smiled slightly, making his heart accelerate, something he had not felt for a long time other than in fear and nerves – but this was warmth. He looked down at their hands, which were in a brushing distance. As if hearing his thoughts, Hermione's fingers took hold of his cold digits, caressing them, something nobody else had done to him (and he wouldn't want anyone else but her to do).

"Unprepared as always, I see."

Her words broke him out of his thoughts, and she quirked her brow, smile held in place, and tilted her head towards the graves. _Oh_ , he thought. She took out of her wand from her pocket, and bent on a knee, producing two bouquet of white lilies, laying them on both graves.

He shook his head, unable to hold a humorless laugh (it was surprising how his mood changed – when did he become so easily irritated?). Sometimes, it felt ridiculous. Impossible. Why was Hermione _always_ there to remind him of something? Why was she always present, telling him that _Harry, it's better this way_ or _You're forgetting something_ or _You're being simply impulsive_ or _You're brave, don't ever forget that_ or _You can be so thick_ or _Honestly, Harry, I'm your best friend._ She stuck by him through thick and thin, looked out for him in their third year when he got the _Firebolt_ , believed in him in their fourth year when nobody else did, told him he could be a teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts (and almost gave him a heart attack by fainting in the Department of Mysteries), didn't leave his side when Ron did (but he didn't entirely blame him, as there was the Horcrux, and he was the one to tell him to go away). If she could give him a reason (a reason to let her be his friend only, so that he didn't have to think she could make a brilliant life-partner; a reason to not be so infuriatingly able to balance him out, so that he could consider other women) – if she could give a _single_ reason to him so could not feel for her, he wouldn't be in the mess in the first place.

These facts were enough to gall him.

And Hermione stared. "What's wrong, Harry?"

Her voice came to him from somewhere far away. His eyes landed on hers, peering closely – wondering (did she really feel for him like Ginny said – like _he_ thought?). "Nothing," he replied curtly.

She blew out her breath, exasperated. How long would it take for him to open up? Why was he determined to become more and more of a stranger? Why was he now pushing _her_ away? A flush rose up her cheeks, the light wind unable to cool the heat. "Harry, do you think if you'll say, 'Nothing,' I'll somehow believe you? How many more attempts – _pathetic_ attempts, honestly – will you make to hide from me? That's all you've been doing for days now. Is it my duty to always remind you that I can see right through you? I've known you for more that seven years!"

 _There she goes again, reminding me_ , Harry thought with frustration (and a tinge of adoration). She baffled him; she made him feel things he didn't want to feel; she was so _unexpected_ (how could he have not seen her all the time she was in his life? How was it that she crept into his heart so silently, the warmth she brought seeping into him on tip-toes, that he never suspected anything until she was standing in front of him? How could he not _see_ what others saw?). Rolling his eyes in a very un-Harry-like manner, he said, "I reckon you know me well enough to understand when I say, 'Nothing'" – his volume increased – "I don't _want_ to talk about it. So if you could _please_ leave me alone with my thoughts, rather than barging in very time and telling me to share them, when I clearly don't blooming want to, I would appreciate it!" He bit his lip, surprised at his harshness.

Hermione's eyes were wide. Shocked. "What's … What's _wrong_ with you, Harry? Why are you being this way?" a small voice Hermione didn't use often said.

He closed his emerald eyes, heaving a long sigh, and pursed his lips. "Will you stop with the questions, Hermione? … Look," he sighed, "why don't you answer my question first? Tell me, why in the world are you so _persistent_ , so bloody concerned when something concerns me? Nobody has ever been this way, but _you_ – what's _with_ you when it comes to me?"

Her heart skipped a beat, not only due to the blow of the question, but also the surprise of her uncertainty of the answer she was to give him – it had been on her lips instantly, but she did not give sound to it. _Why_? Why at all? It was her duty, was it not, being a best friend? But she grasped the meaning of the question by reading Harry's eyes; they were coated with steel, but they were soft, too, and they shone in a way when Harry was trying to plead with her. What he was asking was _Where do I stand_?

And both her and him knew he was affirming something. Harry wanted an answer, because if others suspected she loved him the way he loved her, then they should be right, for they were right before, so they _must_ be right now.

She stepped closer to him, her gaze neither downwards nor upwards – somewhere in-between. She was gazing at him and not gazing at him. She was talking to him and not talking to him as she spoke, "I … I never thought …" The words had sprinted away from her hands that aimed to grab them. A long pause, and then: "I don't know why, Harry, and it's so ridiculous to think that all of it went past _me_ , not to boast or anything," she added quickly. "I think, I always felt more inclined towards you." A pause. "More protective of you than for anyone else. Maybe it was the fact that Voldemort was always after you, and it was hard to swallow that I would lose you, one way or another. I knew you craved too much to be average to bring attention to yourself, so I trusted you, and stood by you, knowing your need for a friend. And now, Harry, even when everything seems all right, I understand it's not for most of us, including you. I'm afraid that you are distancing yourself from us. And the thought of you not being a part of our lives is suffocating." Her voice had grown smaller as she spoke.

Her gaze was now fixed on his, unwavering as he walked closer to her. Her tilted upwards when he came to a stop a centimeter or two before her. His breath fanned her face. And he said, "You haven't answered my question." His voice did not sound as if it wanted her to say anything she did not want to say. His eyes flitted back and forth from one of her eyes to another, searching. He raised his hand, putting it on her right cheek, his thumb sweeping up and down on it. Slowly, he placed his forehead on hers.

" _Harry_ ," she whispered, letting her eyes droop shut. "I wanted to tell you I'm going after Mum and Dad. To Australia."

A sharp intake of breath. A slight distance moved away. "That's … That's great. Er, when are you going?"

Sighing, she stilled her body, readying herself to what she was going to say. Yes, she trusted Ron with his judgement (it was after much thinking about it – Rita Skeeter saw it, for goodness' sake; Cho felt jealous of Harry because of her; Ron told her both of them were oblivious to what they had, and when you are Hermione Granger, you _couldn't_ be the one who was oblivious – she had to know if Harry was hiding something (like her), too) It was time to let it all out (and she was not afraid of the consequences). "I … I think it started during the Horcrux hunt." Her mouth dried, and she tried to speak again, only being able to let a few small sounds out. After Ron left. But that was the start, and my feelings were too small to be considered. I don't know when and how, but it _happened_ – I was too preoccupied to notice it. But Ron … he did. You know, he's more observant than we give him credit for," she went on to say, as if shying from the subject at hand.

He scrutinized her flashing expression; it was pained, then glad, then reluctant, then pained, then happy. And he inhaled sharply at her confession. So Ginny was right. It was crazy, _mad_ , how how his heart was on an insane running spree all of a sudden. But it was not at all crazy. He was happy. He felt excited. He was finally achieving something. He _had_ achieved that something. And it was all for himself. Oh, he could be _selfish_ for once. There was no guilt to talk about. No fear. Nothing bound him – nothing was holding him back. An opportunity for him to say something for himself had come running to him. And he wasn't about to let it go.

"It's okay to feel like this, y'know," he began. "Especially when everyone is okay with it, and I feel the same," he, feeling the need to assure her, confirmed quickly (excitement and fear that only the art of confession has consumed him. He let it all happen to him. Stun him. All at once); his insides promised him that what he was doing was ultimately right – and he trusted his conscience, which seldom lied to him.

This time, Hermione drew away, shaking her head. "Y-You don't understand. It's not that, Harry – it's just …" Looking away (for it was easier that way) she said (after licking her lips repeatedly and pursing them with a lot of pressure that made them swell), "I don't think I am good enough for you; was I ever?" Vulnerability. The deepest, darkest secret of Hermione Jean Granger. Being scared of her own self. Questioning her worth. "I'm bossy, hard to reason with … I-I know you get tired of that." Her cheeks reddened like tomatoes (she hardly shared her fears).

But was Harry that much of a saint to want to have a saint in his own life? No. And wasn't she tired of his heroics in the past, too? And his anger was never appreciated. That did not mean she loved him any less, he suggested; when she agreed with a "Harry, whatever made you think that way?" he told her that was how he felt about her flaws.

"I – I … I love you," he finally confessed in a faint, tremulous voice after a few seconds of gathering his thoughts, and injecting all the courage in the words of his (and believing he had nothing to lose; believing this was the right time, the right way; believing in his instincts that imparted to him their message in that way of lightly twisting his gut, making his heart soar).

Hermione smiled back (and it seemed to Harry the brightest beam he had ever encountered), tucking a stray curl abashedly behind her ear. "Me too."

With boldness that suddenly possessed him (later, he would understand and say that it was the exhilaration, ecstasy, and feeling of finally knowing the near future would be all right with Hermione there next to him, with all their hesitation out the window; this fuelled his excitement, and this propelled him), Harry drew her back in his arms before she could protest, and placed his forehead again on hers. This time, though, Hermione did not let her eyes close but look right back into Harry's. Leaning into his hand that was on her jaw and other on the small of her back, she placed hers in his messy shock of black hair. He leaned closer, and kissed her in a soft, chaste way.

The world around them had grown dark, and the wind was more active. The warmth from the kiss spread in their bodies like it did after taking a hot cup of tea in chilly nights.

They separated, smiling at each other, hardly trusting what transpired to be real, which made their smiles shaky. They kissed again, as if to confirm. Then, with a burst of energy, Harry raised Hermione in the air, spinning her around. They laughed. They embraced again. And met their lips, again and again and again.

Hermione's confidence in Harry being a good kisser in their fifth year was right after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Comment your thoughts. :-)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny begins to learn to value herself.

_**Ginny,** _

_**I know I've said this before, but as many times as I say it, it's not enough.** _

Two months. It had been two months, the passing time bringing along with it many developments: the budding relationship of Harry and Hermione (the latter departing to Australia to search for her parents and return their memories and coming back to Hogwarts) and Ginny's new-found freedom from giving love and dreading not receiving it back.

_**Thank you, not only for the fact that you have proposed to surprise Hermione (although that's awesome as well) –** _

She was not happy, not wholly – the better word would be satisfied; after all, the future she had seen before her eyes at the realisation that she had fallen in love with Harry ( _Harry Potter_ , a boy she could only have dreamed would look her way; a boy who, she had learned, was just a boy), that future had broken, just like that. But she did not have a choice, did she? Stealing happiness, caging someone ... That was not Ginevra Weasley. But what she was now was not her either. Was she not the optimistic joker? The fiery redhead who never let anything put her down? Then why did she feel a slight ache within her chest, gently crashing against her like waves, when her thoughts would wander towards Harry, and how he appeared changed and renewed, the spark of hope of a future for  _himself_ shining?

–  _ **but for other things too, like showing me what was right in front of me. What truly made me happy. For being understanding. For being brave.**_

"It was not a surprise," Luna said in a misty tone, looking out in space as she played with the grass beneath her. They had left the the great castle for seclusion, so Ginny could talk her feelings out regarding the recent events, whatever Luna meant by it. "The potential was always there, but they never thought much of it."

_Leave it to Luna to predict such things_ , she thought bitterly.  _But she's right as she almost always is._

"Let's not dwell on such things, Luna," Ginny said like a hypocrite. There was an all too familiar pang in her heart, which spread to her hands through her veins quite literally.

_**It's hard not to be selfish when you most want things to go your way. And I understand that. I may be a hero, but I'm not a saint. I was selfish in this too.** _

"You may have left Harry, but you haven't let go of him in your heart completely. It's pointless to hang on to things that are going to slip from your hands, don't you think?" Luna's eyebrow was raised, her hazy gaze boring into hers. (She always looked delirious, some said. But she said more sober and sensible things than anyone else.)

**_No matter how many times I say this, it will never be enough. But, please, forgive me. For not being the man you deserved to have. For not appreciating you._ **

"Of course. That's why I'm  _not_ ," Ginny protested weakly, wishing Luna would just  _stop_ , looking down at her hands, thinking about how she was trying so hard to be happy for her friends.

They sat in silence before the Lake for a few moments, letting the chirping of the birds fill it in. She almost believed she was over and done with it when she continued.

"I know, Ginny – I know Harry's coming to Hogsmeade next week. (You should not simply keep your letters lying here and there, you know.) And he wants to meet Hermione. And I know that you fear facing him, fear facing  _them_. Ginny, you don't miss Harry as much as you long for things, long for happiness and partnership and love, but don't you think you have your whole life ahead of you for that?"

_**But there's future. And there are more worthy people who would like to have your companionship. Who have been with you, but remain silent. Who are braver than they are given credit for, just like you. Want to be understood and supported. Just like you.** _

During her little speech, Luna was busy staring into the the lake, infuriatingly blunt about her ideas, like nargles and wrackspurts and everything. So  _calm_ about it all. (How Ginny envied her, her contentment, her peace – how in the name of Merlin was she like this? Why could not she herself have it?)

Ginny sat up, anger turning her ears red.  _Who is she to say such nonsense? I don't_ long  _for anything. Merlin!_  "Why are you so ... so ... Ugh!"

_**The war, our break up – it was not easy, so don't push people away because you might think you can fight your battles alone, because you couldn't be more wrong.** _

With that, Ginny stormed off.  _Long for these things? She couldn't be more bloody wrong than this!_

_**Others' help has this spectacular way of lightening your burdens.** _

* * *

One week later, Ginny was leading Hermione.

"Where are we going?" Hermione said, tugging to free her hand from the stubborn hold of Ginny.

"Somewhere that would wake you up from this misery," she replied curtly, hiding her smile.

Hermione huffed and let her guide her. They passed a few excited third years until there was nobody left to pass by. Then they stopped. And Hermione frowned before she gasped.

Harry stood up from his perch on a rock, a few meters away from the Whomping Willow, having chosen this deserted spot because he did not want anyone's attention. And as he stood, Ginny felt the pang reverberating through her being threefold stronger. Because, this time, it was Hermione; it was Hermione's sight, her presence and simply  _her_ that had Harry so tranfixed on the spot. It was  _her_.

**_It must hurt. And I hope with everything I have that it goes away._ **

Gulping the lump in her throat, Ginny looked beside her, and let a ghost of a smile settle on her face when she saw Hermione so red and so close to tears of happiness, with her eyes wide in pleasant surprise and unhidden affection and love for Harry. Then she looked down at her hand when Hermione squeezed it in a silent  _thank you_ , as grateful as the one she had tried to convey through a long speech about Ginny's courage and strength and beauty months ago, when her heart still needed a  _Repairo_  to be fixed. She squeezed it back, her eyes flitting to Harry's direction as if to say ' _Go on.'_ Hermione nodded, staring in Harry's direction, who was shuffling his feet now, waiting.

"Look," Ginny hissed, impatient, "I certainly did not bring you here to stare at him like that. It's adorable and all how you missed each other and can't take your eyes off him because his sorry arse is alive after that Auror mission but it's making me bloody nau–"

" _Harry_!" Hermione said, cutting Ginny off as she bound towards him, her bushy hair flying in all directions. "Thank God you're all right!"

Then she all but flew towards him. He opened his arms, and she embraced him with all the ferocity caged inside her, making him stumble back. Recovering, he buried his face in her hair, and breathed deeply enough that it was apparant to Ginny who was a few meters away from them.

_**Desires don't die even when you are selfless. They have this way of haunting you. If they did not, then wouldn't sacrifice be the easiest good one could do? Wouldn't being good the easiest choice to make? For that, you're the truest friend.** _

_Guess Luna was right, but just too bloody forward about it,_ Ginny thought, as she took in a shuddering breath. She wanted understanding and love and a partner too – Merlin knew all those who had experienced the war did. And Harry and Hermione were simply too good of an example of it.

_Maybe they needed this more than most of us._

Harry, still locked in embrace, was saying something in Hermione's ear, and it made her laugh so hard she had to throw her head back. Then she slowly rested her forehead against his and slowly kissed him, and he pulled her flush against him as he responded, one of his hand on her neck, playing with her hair.

Feeling like a horrible intruder, or an uninvited person who was witnessing such a beautiful manifestation of love, she decided to walk away.

Just before she did, she saw Harry dislodging himself from her and say, "May I have this dance?" with his hand out in front of him, and Hermione nodding enthusiastically. Then they danced on some music that was nonexistent to Ginny, but existed, loud and clear, to them. Anchored on her spot, she also saw him kiss her forehead, his lips lingering, his eyes closed in contentment. And utter bliss. (She would not be surprised if his Patronus would morph into a male embodiment of Hermione's Patronus.)

She decided to walk away before the longing engulfed her whole.

**_I hope we stay friends, after all that we have been through._ **

"Come on, Ginny – their Nargles infested brains won't let them see anything other than each other for a long time."

" _Luna!_ " she said, putting a hand on her chest to steady her heartbeat. "You followed us?"

She giggled, shrugging. "You know, Ginny, it's not bad to long for things," she said, out of the blue, looking into her eyes meaningfully.

Ginny frowned. "I guess."

Then Luna's eyes settled on the couple who were lost in their wonderland. She sighed happily.

"Isn't it beautiful?" she said. "The love in the air?" She breathed in as if to catch the a whiff of its scent.

_**I wish you happiness with everything I have.** _

"Yes," Ginny said, curbing her desires; Luna's happiness was just too contagious, and what she said rang in her mind.

_It's really okay, isn't it?_ (And, if she were honest and direct with herself, what good did mulling over what-ifs do?) Fighting, bravery, sacrifice? She had done it all. Now it was time to adapt and be happy, not only for others, but for herself – it was not all about the happy couple who were swaying in each other's arms, talking in hushed voices, it was about her too; she was forever free from the burden of not being enough, free to love and be loved like she deserved to. She was not the right person for him, but it never meant she was any less. Or deserved anything less.

So she giggled, embracing the little ache, and imitated her friend, sniffing the air, feeling like the silliest person on planet earth but enjoying it all the same. "Yes it is."

_**Harry.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done! The whole fanfiction was almost like a rough draft, so there will be inconsistencies in it. And I see how Harry seems like an arrogant prick in the letter - I'll change it a bit in my edits, once they come around. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Your time was appreciated.


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